Fear of One's Own Darkness
by prone2dementia
Summary: A Gryffindor/Slytherin DADA class leads everyone to discover that Harry’s boggart is no longer a Dementor, and that he is not as golden as they’d like to think. An unlikely person, read: Malfoy, comes to his defense. No pairings; HBP noncompliant.


Fear of One's Own Darkness

Wilting under the meticulous scrutiny of his fellow classmates, Harry Potter could not help but blame the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for his current position. '_And_ _she had been doing so well—not even attempting to harm or kill me_,' were Harry's morose thoughts.

It had all started when Professor Ames suggested that they, the sixth year Gryffindor/Slytherin class, should brush up on material learned in previous years.

That material included boggarts.

The Boy-Who-Lived, standing sequestered at the front of the classroom, shuddered as a bout of irrational dread raced down his spine. In third and fourth year, his boggart had taken the form of a Dementor. But who was to say that his worst fear had remained unchanged? Over the years, Harry had experienced so many horrid happenings that it did not make sense for his boggart to be a creature that he could easily defeat with a properly cast spell.

"I'll release it on the count of three," announced the professor, her wand directed at the latch of the shabby wardrobe in which the boggart resided.

Harry sensed all eyes upon him, excited whispers traveling through the queue of students. Of course they would be interested in what gave the _Chose One_ nightmares; they were fascinated by the idea of the _Great Harry Potter_ possessing fear.

"One, two, _three_."

With a flourish of Professor Ames' wand, the doors were sent whipping backwards. A resounding crack embellished the impact of wood on wood and, for a long moment, there was silence. Not a single breath was taken as the class waited in anticipation.

From the darkness, a familiar hand reached out as if seeking assistance.

The class gasped in unison at the emerging figure.

It was _Harry_.

But this Harry was so different in the way he carried himself, in the way he expressed himself, and in the way his aura took form that the two Potters were easily distinguishable from one another.

Boggart Harry strode with the confidence of one who could duel with the entire class, professor included, and still come out on top. The cackling air about him was tangibly dark, suffocating hope and stirring fear in the hearts of the raptly watching audience. Many subconsciously stepped backwards as they watched Boggart Harry's prowling advance. Real Harry was no exception—stumbling a retreat until an unyielding table halted his movements.

Whilst Real Harry was good-looking in a rogue, boyish way, Boggart Harry was seductively handsome, his allure not unlike the way in which vampires attracted prey.

However, the most overt difference was in the eyes. Real Harry had eyes in the rare, and much sought after, Avada Kedavra green. Boggart Harry's eyes flashed crimson at intervals.

There was no doubt in any of the viewers: Boggart Harry was the most terrifying thing barring Voldemort, and Real Harry had the definite potential to turn into such a person if he tried. Their opinions of the Golden Boy were abruptly shifting, and it was all occurring before the boggart had even spoken!

"Do you remember what it was like to cast the Cruciatus?" Boggart Harry drawled, his face set with a malicious smirk that could rival the truest Slytherin's.

The rest of the class gaped as the implications of such words were realized. They turned to face Harry, silently urging him to voice denial, to argue, to tell the Boggart that it was crazy.

But Real Harry did not. He had been frozen since the sibilant words first escaped Boggart Harry's lips, forgetting entirely that he was wizard who possessed a wand. Forgetting entirely that a simple '_Riddikulus_' was all that was needed to banish the magical creature.

"Silly me, of course you do! It was wonderful, wasn't it? That feeling of absolute _control_, knowing you could make someone else beg for mercy?"

Real Harry gulped, trying to work his suddenly dry throat.

"You wondered then, didn't you? Wondered what it would be like to _let go_. To tell everyone to take their expectations of you and shove it. It's all expectations, isn't it? Don't you wonder what people would think if they found out what you were really like? That their precious _Golden Boy_," he sneered the title as if it were an insult, "is much more similar to the Dark Lord than different."

The rapidly processing students reacted in different ways. The Gryffindors were horrified (the non-responsive Real Harry did nothing to help the predicament) and the Slytherins were intrigued.

"Both Parselmouths, orphaned, mistreated by muggle guardians, misunderstood, looked up to, subject to Dumbledore's manipulations." Boggart Harry was clearly enjoying this; enjoying the position he was forcing Real Harry into. "And don't forget—both_ Slytherins at heart_."

After speaking those words, he took his eyes off Real Harry for the first time since being birthed from the wardrobe. He scanned the crowd of students with lazy nonchalance, gauging their responses.

"They're all in a state of denial. Oh, but imagine if they had heard the Sorting Hat's words: That Slytherin would lead you on the path to greatness. That you belonged in the house of the snake. However, I must commend you—choosing Gryffindor instead. How clever and _absolutely Slytherin_ of you to make sure no one suspected...that the true snake was hiding in lion's garb!"

It was this statement that finally jolted Real Harry from his stupor, but unfortunately Harry was not the only one.

As Harry stuttered his denial, he could hear the discussions starting up amongst the other students.

"No, I...I didn't...I didn't mean for—"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," the patronizing tone was reminiscent of Lockhart's, "Why do you deny your own nature so? You have such _potential_. Remember Macmillan's words in second year? The Dark Lord was after you because you were a _threat_. You could compete for his position.

"But you have hidden that fact pretty well, haven't you? No one would have ever suspected...well, until _now_." The twisted grin upon Boggart Harry's face was truly hideous and out of place. "You could _join him_, you know. The Dark Lord could give you power. You could amount to much more than you would ever achieve as Dumbledore's pawn."

Real Harry was numb. He felt like an outsider peering in—unable to move his body but knowing he had to do something before...

"_Think about it, Harry. The Dark Lord would be gracious. He's even offered before!_"

"_No! I would never join the man who killed my parents!_"

Real Harry had finally found his voice, and the conversation was spilling out in Parseltongue now. Not understanding that Harry was vehemently arguing instead of agreeing, the fright in many students spiked to new levels. Of course they all _knew _Harry shared Slytherin's ability, but knowing something was different than seeing it in action. Harry had not used snake speak since second year and his peers had decided that him being a Parselmouth was insignificant.

"_Riddikulus_, Potter. _Cast it_!"

In a detached part of Harry's mind, he found it odd that Draco Malfoy was the one to urge him into action. All that mattered at the moment, however, was the fact that the words worked.

Decisively flicking his wand, he uttered, "_Riddikulus!_"

Boggart Harry was hit by a splash of water and promptly began to dissolved. "I'm melting! I'm melting!" he screeched.

The recreated scene from The Wizard of Oz should have been amusing, but all that was rend from Harry was a bark of hysterical laughter. When the boggart was finally banished, a hush descended on the class. All eyes were on Harry once more.

The sudden realization that their eyes were fearful and suspicious gave him déjà vu of the unpleasant 'Heir of Slytherin' business in second year. Harry felt the overwhelming need to _get away_.

Grabbing his books and tossing his bag over one shoulder, he blurted, "I need some air!"

Professor Ames could not even begin to argue as Harry barged out the door and disappeared down the corridor.

* * *

Part II

Draco Malfoy was amused, and the source of his amusement was the speculating students of Hogwarts:

"—Did you hear what happened in DADA?—"

"—don't believe it!—"

"—How can you not? His _whole class_ witnessed it!—"

"—heard him discussing in Parseltongue—"

"—think he'd turn dark?—"

"—I never thought it was possible, but after today...—"

And the cause of all that entertainment was one Harry James Potter. Draco found his reluctant respect for the guy growing—if Potter had never gone up against the boggart, he would not have received his daily dose of funny.

There were outrageous claims that the Boy-Who-Lived already possessed the Dark Mark, and slightly less outrageous statements that his loyalties were wavering. What the lot of idiots had yet to figure out was that turning dark was Harry Potter's greatest _fear_. One generally did not throw himself into something he was _frightened of_.

The reactions of Weasel (the male one) were, by far, the most humorous. Whenever he was approached by a student curious for a first-hand account of the tale, Weasley would flush a bright red, shake like a volatile substance, sputter several incoherent words, and be dragged away by Granger before he did something that was cause for disciplinary action (i.e. explode).

Draco supposed he should be grateful to the bushy-haired know-it-all—being splattered by little bits of Weasley was not something he aspired to.

The third person in the so-called Golden Trio was MIA. After storming out of the DADA classroom, Potter proceeded to play hooky, missing Charms and Transfiguration consecutively. If he did not turn up in an hour, he would miss dinner as well.

And Draco would be sorely disappointed.

Potter's entrance into the Great Hall and the consequent responses would be unquestionably droll. There was no way Draco would allow Potter not to show up.

With that motivating thought, the blonde set off in search of the boy who had successfully evaded the rest of the school.

* * *

It wasn't as if Harry was trying to _avoid _anyone.

Okay, scratch that. He was.

The isolated scar he had taken to haunting was a wonderful place to think in solitude. It was just a bit off the beaten path, hidden by moderate foliage on the far side of the lake. He doubted any ordinary person would be able to find him there.

Of course, Draco Malfoy was no ordinary person.

"It was awfully noble, you know?"

The way in which Harry jerked at Malfoy's voice was so comical that the Slytherin could not help but burst out laughing. The alarmed look in response to such an out-of-character action from his cold rival just served to fuel Malfoy's guffaws.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is this not where the blindfolded juggling competition is taking place?"

"..."

Harry was..._thrown_. Did _Draco Malfoy_ just make a joke? He could deal with a scornful Malfoy, a snide Malfoy, a superior Malfoy, even an angry Malfoy. However, he could not deal with a..._jocular_ Malfoy.

"...Um."

Malfoy saved him from the burden of replying, waving one hand dismissively. "That was a joke, Potter. Or do they not have those in Gryffindor?"

"...What do you want?"

"Hmm...Well, a new broomstick would be nice. Preferably the Firebolt Alpha—"

"—Malfoy!" snapped Harry.

"Alright, alright. You're no fun, you know?"

A long silence ensued, in which Harry glared at Malfoy, and Malfoy picked at invisible lint.

"As I was saying _earlier_...you always get the noble fears, don't you? Fear of fear, and now fear of turning bad. The Sorting Hat might've wanted you in Slytherin, but fear of one's own darkness is positively _Gryffindor_."

"Where are you going with this, Malfoy?"

The aristocrat's words had caused the weariness in Harry to rear its head.

"I guess what I'm saying is that you should go to dinner. There's no use hiding because people found out about your absolutely _sublime _fear. They'll eventually come 'round and grasp that if you're _afraid _of becoming dark, you _won't become _dark."

"And what do you get out of this?"

"What makes you think I'll benefit?"

Harry could not help but smile as Malfoy's attempt at wide-eyed innocence failed miserably.

"You're a Slytherin, Malfoy. Cunning, devious, ring a bell?"

"I never knew you thought so highly of me, Potter!"

"Quit dancing around the subject. You're trying my patience."

That was a little white lie. Strangely enough, Malfoy's appearance had served to lift Harry's mood. _Of course_, he told himself firmly, _it was _not_ because he actually enjoyed Malfoy's presence_.

…That might have been a little white lie, also.

"What I get out of this is the pleasure of watching those fools around you cower. And speculate. And gossip," Malfoy smirked.

Harry raised one eyebrow. "Not convincing."

"Oh come on, Potter. _Food! _Teenage boy likey food!" Malfoy reverted to baby speak, clapping his hands encouragingly.

* * *

In the end, Harry could have chosen to eat in the kitchens, but he decided to see things from Malfoy's perspective. The reactions from the school could prove to be interesting...

Harry shook his head; Malfoy was such a bad influence on him.

However, the Chosen One was also getting something out of the deal. Malfoy had promised to use his 'cunning, devious, Slytherin-ess' to convince people that Harry was not a Dark Lord in training. When Harry had inquired as to _when_ Malfoy would be using his talents, the blonde had simply replied with "_Patience is a virtue, Potter_."

The double doors were flung to the side as Harry approached—one could not hope for a more dramatic entrance. The latent period arrived as all gazes swiveled toward the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry had the overwhelming urge to throw his hands in the air and declare, "And the Lord said, 'Let there be silence'", but decided against it. Everyone thought he was weird enough already.

He and Malfoy parted at the threshold. Harry headed toward the Gryffindor table as Malfoy headed toward the Slytherin one.

Taking long strides, he found himself glaring down anyone who dared to gape at him. Harry deftly tuned out the hissing whispers that rippled through the Hall. At long last, he reached the seat reserved for him—across from Ron and beside Hermione. It was difficult to read his friends' expressions: worry, relief, a bit of betrayal?

"I...got your homework for you," Hermione said hesitantly.

That was so utterly _Hermione_, that Harry just had to smile. Encouraged by the positive reaction, Ron leaned in to ask:

"So where did you go, mate?"

"The lake. Needed some air," Harry answered as he moved to pile food on his plate. Malfoy was right: teenage boy likey food.

"...Er, about the boggart—"

At Ron's words, the vicinity fell suspiciously silent.

Harry arched one brow and gestured for the redhead to continue.

"I guess it's not a Dementor anymore?"

_How did you ever guess?_ Harry mused to himself. "Nah, the Patronus dealt with that just fine, didn't it?"

"I...suppose. And...about what the boggart said...was is it true?"

Harry sighed, knowing that most of the school was listening in on his conversation. "It twisted a lot of the truth into a pretzel, Ron."

"Does that mean the Sorting Hat didn't actually want to put you into Slytherin?"

The Boy-Who-Lived cocked his head defiantly, "Would it matter if it did? I chose Gryffindor because we became friends on the train. Would you abandon me if I told you that was the truth?"

"No, no!" Ron rushed to assure Harry.

"Harry," Hermione lowered her voice, "The part about Lestrange..."

Harry glared around at the eavesdroppers, forcing them to drop their gazes before replying, "What the boggart said about feeling in control? It was a lie. I couldn't even cast it properly because I didn't _want_ it enough. It was a mistake. One I'll never make again. Promise."

"Good."

Ron chose that moment to interject another comment, "Some people saw you walking up to the castle with Malfoy, earlier."

Harry nodded.

"He...didn't do anything, did he?"

"If 'doing anything' is equivalent to 'engaging in a fight', then no."

Ron and Hermione exchanged meaningful glances.

"Look, he's really not that bad…if you get past the fact that he's a pompous git," divulged Harry.

Ron spluttered, "But—but he's Malfoy."

"Yes," the Chose One smiled sardonically, "I am perfectly aware of his name."

"This is the guy who—" Ron stopped in his tracks as he heard the voice of the pureblood himself carry across the Great Hall.

"For Merlin's sake! If your worst fear is bees, would you go running towards one or away from one?" the blonde sneered.

Parkinson, who was bearing the brunt of Malfoy's ridicule, shriveled a little.

"Well, _away_, of course," she sniffed.

"The same goes for Potter! He fears turning dark above all else—do you think he'd join up as soon as he got an offer?"

There was quiet in the Great Hall as students digested those words. Harry had to commend Malfoy: His argument was convincing and his metaphoric scenario was logical.

"...Did Malfoy just stand up for you?" asked Dean Thomas, disbelievingly.

"He's got a point though," Hermione acknowledged, the corners of her lips quirking upwards as she offered Harry a small smile.

Ron sat frozen, still shocked by the fact that _Draco Malfoy_ had just defended the Boy-Who-Lived.

Malfoy raised his goblet as if to toast Harry from across the room.

Harry mimicked the action with his glass of pumpkin juice.

Boggart Harry might have been a nuisance, but he had gotten one thing right: everyone could take their expectations of him and shove it.

* * *

End

* * *

The extended sequel is called The Wisdom of Drunks.

Thank you for reading.


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